


Someone to Complete Me

by theorchardofbones



Series: Promptio Ficlets & Drabbles [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, Happy Birthday Prompto!, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 09:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16405823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: Gladiolus has it all: the looks, the job, the boyfriend.It's not enough.While Prompto slumbers beside him, he comes to a decision — one that will change things forever.





	Someone to Complete Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlecakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecakes/gifts).



> Prescribed listening: ['Mirrorball' by Elbow](https://youtu.be/4uHMnalQYs4)
> 
> This is a sappy little piece I wrote for Prompto's birthday. I realised I haven't done anything like this for Promptio in a while! Dedicated to [the littlest of cakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecakes), who I think could use a bit of a pickmeup <3

_Know that while you sleep  
_ _Everything has changed_

* * *

Sometimes you just know. They breeze into your life, and you know from the moment your eyes meet theirs that everything is about to change.

Gladiolus didn’t know. He didn’t know, when he first met Noct’s hyperactive, bordering-on-irritating friend, that they would be where they are now.

He didn’t know there’d come a day when he’d ache every moment they were apart; when he’d spend more time thinking about the guy than not. Didn’t know that his heart was capable of being quite so full, so full that it felt like it would burst.

There were lots of things he didn’t know when he first met Prompto Argentum, but he came to learn with time: that he’s got little beauty marks on each of his biceps, almost perfectly symmetrical; that he pokes his tongue out when he’s concentrating, without even realising it; that even though he seems so chirpy and cheerful all the time, there’s a sadness to him, too.

Now, it feels like Gladiolus knows everything about the guy. He knows what Prompto’s thinking just by looking at his face. He knows when Prompto forgets to take his contacts out when he goes to bed; when he’s hungry but won’t admit it because he doesn’t want to be a bother; when he’s holding back anger or frustration, even though that ever-bright smile never falters.

He knows, too, that there are things Prompto knows about _him_ — things that he’d never dream of sharing with another living soul. Prompto knows, when they hold each other late at night and Gladiolus goes still, that he’s crippled with worry: worry that he’s not good enough; not strong enough; _not enough._

It’s all a jumble, these thoughts and feelings. Gladiolus has been trying for weeks to put it into words, and failing _miserably._

He knows if he asked Iggy, it’d be done in a matter of hours, and probably handwritten in calligraphy on gilded silver paper into the bargain. It wouldn’t be the same, though — it has to come from Gladiolus, no matter how hard that might be.

He squints down at the journal in front of him, where his latest draft sits, black ink on off-white. The last sentence he wrote is unfinished, and it seems to taunt him from the paper where he struggled to find the right words.

With a little huff of frustration, he tears the page out from the spine and crumples it into a ball.

‘Gladio?’

He freezes where he sits.

He knows, logically, that from where Prompto stands, there’s no way he could read what was on the paper. Still — he can’t help the little rush of fear, the frustration aimed at himself for being so careless. He couldn’t sleep, though. Had to get the swirling maelstrom of thoughts out of his head _somehow._

He tries not to be too obvious as he closes the journal and pushes it aside and out of view. Reassembles his expression into something neutral as he stands up and turns to face his lover where he waits in the doorway.

Prompto’s wearing one of _his_ shirts, and it’s so oversized it’d almost be ridiculous if it weren’t so damned adorable.

‘What’re you doin’ up?’ Gladiolus asks. ‘It’s late.’

Prompto gives a soft scoff and leans on one hip. Gladiolus tries not to watch the way the movement makes his shirt ride up a little, exposing more of his pale, freckled thigh.

‘I was _going_ to ask you the same thing,’ Prompto counters, with a knowing smile.

Gladiolus sighs ruefully. Scrubs a hand down his face and gives a shrug.

‘Shield stuff,’ he lies. He has to fight to ignore the twinge of guilt that such dishonesty always brings. ‘Always on the clock.’

Prompto’s mouth forms a small pout, and the urge to kiss it away is so strong that Gladiolus almost gives in, then and there.

‘Come back to bed,’ Prompto says, stretching a hand out toward him.

Gladiolus obeys, wordlessly.

It seems absurd that either of them have the energy to make overtures at this late hour, but as it so often seems to be, they can’t quite keep their hands off one another as soon as they fall into bed.

They bask in the afterglow for a long while — and Gladiolus thinks, in a haze, that it really _is_ a glow, so brightly does Prompto shine. Sometimes they fill the darkness of Gladiolus’s bedroom with words; more often than not they just lie in comfortable silence.

Before long, Prompto’s drifting back to sleep, his birdbone shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

It seems unfair, somehow. That Gladiolus could get so lucky; that he gets to wake up in the morning with Prompto in his arms. It seems unfair that in all of this, it’s _Prompto_ who thinks he’s the lucky one, _Prompto_ who thinks he doesn’t deserve to be this happy.

If Gladiolus could rip his own heart out of his chest, could show Prompto that every beat of it is for _him,_ that every moment Gladiolus lives is better with Prompto in it, he would.

He tries to sleep; drifts in and out a few times, he thinks, as the black of night gives way to dawn and the shadows begin to stretch across the walls. Through it all Prompto sleeps, stirring sometimes with a frown — a frown that always vanishes into the ether when Gladiolus lays a gentle kiss on his brow.

It’s moments like this, when there’s nothing keeping them from each other — no royal duties, no part-time jobs — that Gladiolus is happiest. Even if Prompto’s asleep, even if they’ll have to go their separate ways once the day begins, Gladiolus wouldn’t change a thing.

But… things _will_ change, he knows. For better or worse, everything will change.

He tries to rouse Prompto with a kiss on the cheek and, when that fails, softly shakes him by the arm. Noct’s always the one getting a reputation for being lazy, but on the rare occasions when Prompto settles into a deep sleep, the world could crack with a great splintering roar beneath him and he’d slumber through it.

‘Babe,’ Gladiolus says, and it’s this — this soft word, pleading and gentle — that finally wakes him.

Prompto’s slow to shake off his dreams, however, and for a long moment he just blinks sleepily up at Gladiolus like he’s not quite sure where he is, but he’s content nonetheless.

‘Gladdy?’ he says, his voice heavy and sweet with sleep. ‘Are you—’

Gladiolus cuts him off gently; touches his thumb to Prompto’s lip. It’s a little cracked and dry from where he’s been worrying at it, teeth chewing the soft flesh raw.

‘Marry me,’ Gladiolus says.

It’s no grand speech — all the words that he’s been trying to string together in something halfway poetical seem to pale in comparison to the way his heart aches as he looks at Prompto, where the early morning sun turns his skin to porcelain, his hair to gold.

Gladiolus supposes this is all he has, really. No pretty words: just the drum of his heart, steady and sure, where it beats for Prompto.

‘Sure,’ Prompto says, a drowsy smirk dragging up the corner of his mouth.

He doesn’t last long, drifting off by the time he draws his next breath.

Gladiolus knows that when he wakes again, Prompto will think that it’s a joke, that it’s some silly attempt at prompting a smile from his lips — if he even remembers it at all.

For now, though, that _Sure_ is enough for Gladiolus; enough to tide him over.

When Prompto wakes for good, when he’s had his caffeine and his shower and is ready to start the day, Gladiolus will ask him again.

Maybe he’ll have something pretty to say then. Something fitting, to convey just how much Prompto means to him.

He’s not sure there are enough words in the world to come close.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones) | [tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com)


End file.
